


Swerving around the issues

by Needs_to_stop_looking_at_valves



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Needs_to_stop_looking_at_valves/pseuds/Needs_to_stop_looking_at_valves
Summary: Swerve has been feeling a little out of place as of late. How important IS he in this tale?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Swerving around the issues

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick little thing I made for @sharp-pebble on tumblr. She wanted comforted Swerve, traded me some Thunderhoof ass, so here we are. Its short, but so is Swerve tbh. Hope y'all like it!

You never really see beyond a smile. You can assume, but there was no truth behind the action. Those who smiled despite exhaustion, agony, and inner turmoil, were more convincing than even the most opportunistic decepticon. And Swerve, was a con mech. His smile was given to the early birds like Tailgate and Cyclonus, all the way past the stubborn patrons like Whirl or Skids. Swerve lightly waved a giggling Rewind, who was being carried off by his Chromedome, ignoring the scolding in favor of smooching his face mask. Swerve watched them disappear, and waited until the silence was too much for even those who joined the allspark. 

"Guess I better clean up for the night."

Swerve picked up a rag, and a bottle of cleaning solution (not the one Brainstorm made him. Took off his hand last time), and started going over the counter. Better now than later, less the stains from all the spilled drinks and purges from patrons, too bold or stubborn to cut themselves off sooner, stain the counter. He recalled exactly who spilled this particular drink. Rodimus. Rodimus, who was singing along with Drift. Not even a real song, but a combination of annoying earworms, screamed out of tune. Swerve lightly chuckled as he recalled their faces;young, dumb, full of joy. Joy. That word was so fleeting. Swerve wasn't a Megatron in terms of sweet words, but he knew one thing. It was impossible to be perpetually happy.

"Huh. Ran out of mudders milk, gotta file a request for more of that.."

Like drinks, nothing lasts forever. All was well and good until the last drop. For Swerve, his bottles tended to empty towards the end of every night. He was the one who offered all he had throughout the day, without much of a thanks. He wasn't being a sparkling, he understood it, it was a responsibility of being a member of the lost light, so it was an expectation. It'd be like thanking Rodimus for sitting in his captains chair. Swerve gave a half hearted sigh as he finished marking up whatever needed to be replaced. He was tired. Tired of smelling all this booze, tired of the multitude of colors blinding him past his visors. Tired of being the only one whose laugh didn't come from his spark. His tanks were empty. He locked up the bar, and as he walked back to his room, locking the door behind himself, he couldn't help but think, if you couldn't be perpetually happy, was there such a thing as permanent unhappiness? If so-

"Ten?"

"Oh, hey big guy."

Swerve forgot about his roommate. Ten used to sleep at the bar, but Swerve realized that really wasn't fair, so he offered his room to him. Ten, although not very communicative, was a great roommate. Cleaned, never took more than he needed, and never broke anything (well, except that table that first week he was here. Not his fault, poor boy had a nightmare and broke it as he woke up). Ten was currently organizing their sheets, when he frowned, helm lightly cocked as he looked at Swerve. He repeated his question.

"Ten?"

"Oh, I-I'm fine! Face hurt from all the fun I had today; swear. You know how it is, a joke here, a poorly sung song there-it gets mad wild."

Swerve faked his usual smile as he sat onto the freshly made berth. He was sure he made his job look pretty easy, but his pedes hurt. His face hurt. His insides hurt, and not in a way that even Ratchet could fix. Ten entered his line of sight, frowning further.

"Ten?"

"No really, I'm fine, big mech. I just opened earlier than usual, a bit tired."

Ten scowled, hands folded over his chest. While Ten's vocabulary was limited, his spark certainly wasn't. 

"Ten!"

"No really, I swear I'm-HEY!"

He cried out as Ten picked him up in a brief swoop, and with his other hand, yanked an extra blanket from the pile of freshly cleaned sheets. Next thing Swerve knew, he was held in the others lap. Trapped right in between his arms and legs, Swerve looked up at his new warden of this VERY comfortable prison.

"Ten! Ten!"

Swerve blinked up at him. No one really got Ten like he did, and it was a damn shame. Ten was surprisingly worried about little old Swerve. And while the statement was simple, it's something that eluded Swerve. For the first time in a while, he frowned.

"I...I'm sorry, Ten. I just genuinely...haven't been feeling like ol' party hardy Swerve. I mean, I want to, but I...kinda feel lonely?"

"Ten?"

"N-not that you aren't my friend! You are! I just...I dunno. I feel incomplete and kinda empty. It makes it hard to smile. Everyone knows their place. Cyclonus is the old warrior with the even older small husband, Rodimus is captain, even Ultra Magnus has his place. Me? I...I'm the bartender in the back, serving the main characters. I'm like an NPC in the WORST game, and I just blend into the-"

He was cut off once something nudged against his mouth. Ten was a weird guy, somehow procuring a bowl of energon cakes. He gave a slight sigh, knowing Ten wouldn't drop it, so he opened his mouth, accepting the offer of being fed. As he chewed, Ten rested his chin on his helm.

"Ten. Ten ten, Ten ten. Ten ten, ten ten."

"...thanks, Ten. That...means a lot. Hey, you really wanna do something for me, here."

Ten allowed him to lean over and grab his data pad, and put it in his giant hands.

"Pick one of my stories, read it to me. I...think I'm okay, shutting up for once."

Ten nodded.

And people say HE talked too much. Swerve scooted himself back, allowing himself to be lulled to slumber by not only Ten's voice, not only by the warmth, but of the steady, consistent pulsing of his spark.

He didn't need to be romanced like those in his stories. He didn't need to be some hero, swooping in to save the day and get the princess.

He was Swerve. And with Ten, that was plenty good enough.

Swerve felt a small smile creep onto his face. One that didn't hurt or feel strenuous. Existing was more than enough, and for once, he could answer the question, 'are you happy?'

He was. Here and now. Even if it went away, he could at least remember how it felt.

And that was enough. Ten times more than enough.


End file.
